


burning deity

by AceJames



Category: Naruto
Genre: Anal Fisting, Angst, Bottom Hashirama, Hashirama No, Hashirama needs to rethink things, M/M, Masochism, Mokuton Bondage, Porn with Feelings, Somnophilia, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 10:17:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7357276
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AceJames/pseuds/AceJames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is nothing like the sear of Madara's hands on his body, Hashirama knows, everything pales in comparison and drives his mind out of his head. His kisses always leave heat trailing from every single brush of chafed lips and it makes him go insane. It doesn't matter when or how the Uchiha does it, it's just that he can and will make Hashirama ache for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	burning deity

There is nothing like the sear of Madara's hands on his body, Hashirama knows, everything pales in comparison and drives his mind out of his head. His kisses always leave heat trailing from every single brush of chafed lips and it makes him go insane. It doesn't matter when or how the Uchiha does it, it's just that he can and will make Hashirama ache for him.

Hashirama is stronger than Madara, they both know this so well, but there is an invisible collar around the tanned man's neck with a thin red string as a leash curled around Madara's wrist. Madara owns him, every breath he takes and every move he makes belong to the man. 

It's why he is so pliant right in that moment, pressed flat against the wooden desk in his office and has a war waged upon him with teeth and tongue. Why the hands gripping his hips bruise pretty browns, purples and yellows through the thick fabric of his official clothes. 

Madara is a fire that he cannot contain and instead burns like the wood he produces as his gift. 

Teeth rip into his lips and Hashirama thinks that maybe today is the day, the day where Madara realizes that he is the sun burning bright during his days and decides to scorch him until there is nothing left, that there is nothing for the cover of night to fully heal again.

He is a masochist, he thinks while he arches his hips to have those greedy, blood stained hands drag his pants down and off of him baring his tanned skin to the furious fire that roamed. Madara urges him to twist and lay on his front, groping at the globes of his ass to only make him go faster.

When will he learn that Hashirama never needed the prompting, that whatever Madara would like he would do for him?

That the so-called God of Shinobi would kneel at the man's feet and would not ask for a single thing from him?

He shifts his body, the edge of the desk digging into his abdomen and shivers at the cool drizzle of oil down the small of his back. It slithers, slicking a path down the dip of his tanned spine and between the crease where nimble fingers eagerly smear it across his opening. Hashirama's breath stutters and he can hear the smug hum of Madara as he presses a single digit inward. 

Madara doesn't often take his time at things like this, but today it seems he will and Hashirama wonders how long it will take him to beg. 

The finger slides in and out, crooking thus way and that, his breath getting caught in the pit of his chest. It crooks just the right way and he doesn't hold back the whine that comes pouring out of him. He doesn't need to look at Madara to know he's smiling, teeth bared and enjoying the submissive posture he was providing.

One finger becomes two, two becomes three and three becomes four before Madara speaks, reverent in his own way, "wonder if you could take my whole fist," he muses, "you would try, wouldn't you."

Hashirama can only laugh sharply and nod his head in reply, because he would. Because he'd do anything he asked (except kill your own brother to make them even, his mind screams out of no where, you would only kill yourself for him) and not think twice (he gave you that option, that's why you took it). 

His thoughts break apart as he feels Madara's thumb tucks against his palm and more cool oil poured on him, then pushes it carefully, stretching him more and more. Hashirama can hear himself whimper because everything, as it should mean when in reference to Madara, is on the edge of too much and he cannot think of anything but maybe, maybe this isn't something he can take. Knuckles brush against the rim and push against it before popping through, the thickest part dome and the rest of the war scarred hand follows easily.

The Uchiha hums his satisfaction, pushing until his hole closes around his wrist and finally curls his fingers into a fist and rocks it gently. Lighting flickers up Hashirama's spine and he groans as the man's knuckles grind against his prostate. His cock is heavy between his thighs and he can taste the renewed blood from his split lip. He doesn't remember biting down so hard, but he had. 

"I think you'll come from just this," Madara tells him as if there is any other way for him to come, "you'll do that for me, won't you?"

Of course he will, anything for Madara. 

It is excruciating, the pleasure he's given and how slowly it takes his burning ember to gain his footing in the new act they're partaking in, but it is so worth it as he finds his stride. Every rock leaves Hashirama breathless and painfully in need of more, he breaks to begging as the pace increases.

He comes with a shout, branches winding out of the ground and up his own legs, holding him up. He wails as Madara continues, refusing to let it finish and he is still so hard. He can hear Madara laughing dark and beautiful at the mess Hashirama willingly became for him.

Madara shifts his hand again and the pressure is off his prostate, though he continues to play with him like a new toy. Exhaustion is creeping up fast and as Madara finally pulls his hand free and moves to fuck his loose hole, a sleepy laugh escapes from him and Hashirama takes the chance to glance over at his unforgiving burst of sunlight, his dark hair matted to his forehead and cheeks with eyes piercing red daggers into his skin.

"M' not going to be able to stay awake," Hashirama tells him with a twist to the corner of his mouth. 

Fingers card through his hair and he finds a finger popping at his mouth to be granted entrance. As the digit finally presses down hard against his tongue, he closes his teeth over the skin and holds it there and listens well to Madara, "fine, I'll just have to fuck you until you wake up."

He laughs loud and thumps his head against the desk, groaning as Madara shoves himself in roughly and begins to take his own pleasure.

Eyelids flutter and slowly come to close, he thinks, relaxing himself into a doze, that he couldn't give himself to a better deity than the blood thirsty man who grew from the loving boy he met as children.


End file.
